The Motivations of Jacob Marley
by GoddessofSnark
Summary: Scrooge and Marley were totally gay for one another." It starts as a joke, but leads both me to question their feelings. It takes a patient to get them to confront them. Depending on your definition of love, depends on if you read this as slash.


A/N I really, really, need to stop these things from meandering, but it's difficult. If you guys can spot things that don't flow right, let me know, and I'll do my best to clean them up. Otherwise enjoy. And none of it is owned by me, not the references to Christmas Carol, or the lines ripped wholesale from Love Actually, or the bits about the Grinch, and least of all, House and Wilson  


* * *

"Scrooge and Marley." Wilson looks up to see just what, exactly, House is thinking.

"What about them?" They had just watched another insipid version of A Christmas Carol on the television, and the beer was running out. It was almost time for Wilson to leave. Or take up residence on the couch-whichever seemed like a better idea for all other passengers on the road at the time.

"They're totally gay for one another."

"Is it possible for you to get through one movie without coming up with ulterior motives for why a character does something?"

"Why else would Marley come back from the grave to tell Scrooge to fix himself? And why else would Scrooge listen?"

"Maybe because Marley feels guilty that his friend is heading towards the same path he did, and maybe because Scrooge actually wants to change."

"Too logical. This was a Victorian era story. Of course they were gay for one another." Wilson merely rolls his eyes. He's used to this. The constant comments that the big buxom blondes that are always the first to die go first because they want to sleep with the big bad serial killer. That the dramatic moment is really something else entirely. The way that every joke in a movie was spoiled. But he kind of enjoyed it.

The thought stays with him though, as he gathers up his coat, and decides that he's sober enough to drive back to the hotel. And the thought stays with House, too, as he hobbles to his bedroom, and pulls off his shirt, leaving him in only a pair of sweats, where he collapses into his bed. The thought stays with them through the morning.

It's something that rolls around in their mind. The motivations of Jacob Marley. And for both of them, they're trying to figure out which one is the Scrooge, and which one is the Marley. The answer seems obvious at first, that Wilson's always the one to help him, and he's the misanthropic bastard, but it's not that simple. House ponders if he was in the same spot as Marley, and if Wilson was throwing his life away, would he come back to save him?

And Wilson ponders what he would do. He tells himself that he couldn't be Scrooge, that he'd never allow himself to become that jaded, but forty years on the earth had taught him better. The world was not a good place. The world breaks everyone, and those that it cannot break it kills. What would happen to him if the one thing that had always served as his own moral high-water point was suddenly pulled away from him? He had always told himself that he'd never allow himself to become as jaded as House, but what would happen to him when House was gone?

It's a thought that's paused on for no more than a second, because he doesn't want to think about it. No, he goes on pretending that he was going to be the Marley, still maintaining his position as House's watchdog. And House tells himself that he'd be Scrooge, not because he wants to know what it's like without Wilson, but because he doesn't want to see his friend become Scrooge. But he flips when he realizes just what an awful afterlife Marley has. No, House would prefer to be Marley. Scrooge changes, Scrooge becomes a good man in the end. Marley never changes, Marley never gets better-and House refuses to let that happen to his friend.

The gay comment has completely gone unnoticed.

Scrooge and Marley go unnoticed too, for the rest of the week. Each of them have made up their minds on which roles they'd play. The green and red keeps growing around the hospital, and the light dusting of snow becomes deeper and thicker. All the roads leading in and out of the narrow streets of Princeton proper become that much more treacherous to drive down Wilson finds himself hating the commute from the suite hotel, even though if he really wanted to, he could walk it, it's less than three miles. Just hop across route 1, and walk up Princeton-Plainsboro road.

But it just seems closer to go the opposite direction, down Scudders Mill Road to House's apartment. He doesn't say this though. He wouldn't. He never wants to say it, because it makes him look needy. And wasn't he the one who sought out needy people so that he could be me the one to help them? He refused to impose on his friend. His early morning routine, he knew, wore on House, the way he'd hog the bathroom worse than his first wife, making sure that he was always immaculate when he went to work.

He'd never admit that he's lonely, without someone to talk to in the evenings. Sure, there's poker nights, movie nights, the occasional date with someone that he runs into over the course of a day. Some other woman to see if it makes him less lonely. But he knows that none of them will. He knows it, and yet he keeps trying futilely, searching vainly to find the next Mrs. Wilson and hopes that it will be the one that sticks.

And House won't admit that he needs a caretaker. Someone to look after him. For a moment, he wonders if maybe Wilson is more Cratchit than Scrooge, but scratches the idea out of his mind. And stops drawing the comparisons to Scrooge and himself. Just because he'd had his own Belle, someone that he had loved and pushed away because he let himself get in the way of a relationship didn't mean that he was Scrooge. How was he supposed to know if Marley hadn't had anybody in his life?

But the thoughts are buried until he gets a patient unceremoniously dumped on him-a kid from the cast of the local theater's yearly production of A Christmas Carol. He swore that every year someone would come in from the theater, and that the production was cursed, but he kept his thoughts to himself. After all, many of the same people that donated there donated to the Hospital as well. And he wasn't going to risk extra clinic hours for pissing off donors. Not unless they actually did something to him first.

He hasn't even remembered the comment about Scrooge and Marley until the patient had been there for three days. "Stop being such a Scrooge." She'd said, when he'd told off one of the nurses.

"Bah, humbug."

"Do you hate Christmas?" He doesn't answer, not for a while.

"No."

"You don't have anyone to share Christmas with." It's a simple statement-the truth.

"No." He couldn't believe he was talking to an eleven year old about his personal life, or lack thereof.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm such a Scrooge, as you decided to dub me." She giggles, but stops short when she realizes he's only half-joking.

"Even Scrooge had Marley to at least talk to on Christmas." The comment stirs up his thoughts again, but he tries to push them away. Yes, Scrooge had Marley to talk to on Christmas.

Although he didn't quite feel comfortable on Christmas, not anymore. It'd only been a few Christmas's prior that saw him nearly die, and plenty more that had been brutally lonely. Wilson had always been busy with one of the wives, always ceding to their celebrations over his own, trading in a menorah for a tree, not wanting to stir up any troubles. Good old Wilson, always letting himself be walked all over.

"Yeah, but Marley's the one to get him into the mess in the first place. Just think, what if they'd never been partners." The girl thought about that for a moment, toying with the idea.

"Then Scrooge would have been even more lost and alone."

"Do you think he'd still have Belle?" He couldn't believe he was talking literature with a child. A child who was playing (one of) the ghosts of Christmas past, and thus was intimately familiar with the storyline, but a child nonetheless.

"I don't think Belle was ever meant for him. She wasn't willing to look past the fact that he had other things in his life than her. He had a friend, he had work, and Belle just wanted him to herself. Selfishly."

"Isn't that what most girls want?" When the child pouted, he softened. Just slightly. He hated making sick kids feel bad, especially over things they couldn't control, like their gender, or their health issues. Bad haircuts and awful outfits though, and the inability to tell stuffed dogs from stuffed bears-that was fair game. "So why do you think Marley comes back on Christmas Eve to warn Scrooge?"

"To let him know he's not alone. To let him know that he loves him too much to let him be miserable, and that he deserves to be happy as a good man. That Scrooge is too good inside to let it be wasted. Because deep down, Marley's good too."

House smirks, and walks out of the room, looking for the head of Oncology. He could leave the team to figure out what was going on with the kid, they were smart people. They all had MD's, they were capable of keeping her alive. Right now he had a far more pressing need-to gloat. "So an eleven year old confirmed my suspicions."

"And what were those?"

"Scrooge and Marley were _totally_ gay for one another."

"House, it's been a week and a half since you saw the movie. Besides, what does an eleven year old know about love?"

"Not just any eleven year old, this one's the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"And next thing you know, you're going to claim to see the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, and your name written in a headstone with 'doom' next to it."

"No, really, she's playing the ghost of Christmas past in the local production of it."

"And she said that Scrooge and Marley are gay?"

"She said that they totally loved each other. Totally." He had the mock valley-girl accent going, and Wilson couldn't help but grin. "And just because I'm right, you're buying the beer tonight. I'll pick out something to watch."

With that, House walked out, leaving Wilson to wonder just why he always put up with the man. But at the same time, rethinking everything. It was totally possible for two men to platonically love each other, wasn't it? Then again, platonic love had been named after a man who most historians believed slept with Socrates. He knew he was willing to play Marley to House's Scrooge, but what did that make him?

He sighed, and went to go check on his patients, before finding himself drawn to House's patient. It was very easy to make it seem as though he was just making sure that the team was doing all right, seeing as he had seen no hide nor hair of House since he'd come in gloating earlier.

"Who are you?" The voice is slightly quiet, and slightly scared, and Wilson fixes his soft eyes to her. This was his element, comforting people.

"I'm Doctor Wilson."

"Why are you here?" It's slightly interrogatory, and Wilson can see why House actually had a conversation with her.

"Just checking in on you."

"I have four other doctors."

"Well, now you have five."

"What's your specialty?" She asks, and he pauses, unsure if telling her will make her even more afraid.

"Cancer. But I'm not here for that-I'm just here as a favor to a friend."

"Doctor House. He said he doesn't trust his 'minions'. And I guess you're not a minion" She's smart, for a sixth grader.

"Doesn't stop him from treating me like one." He flips through the chart, idly noting what had already been tried, and what had already failed.

"Why?"

"Cause he's House, he treats everyone like his minion, even his boss. And his friends. And his minions."

"He's not really mean. He's like Scrooge. Or the Grinch. He's just misunderstood." Wilson can't help the chuckle.

"You don't know House very well." But he has to admit, the girl has a point. "He's the Grinch all right though, heart three sizes too small."

"He just needs a Marley to remind him that there's good in the world, that's all." He could swear that he saw a smirk that his friend would be envious of cross her face as he walked out. But he ignored it, he would not be manipulated by a child who hadn't even made it into high school yet.

Doctor house gets the page, and finds that one of the nurses had paged him. They merely pointed to his patient's room, and he rolled his eyes when he found her in the same state she was in the last time she had left her. "Who's Dr. Wilson?" She asks, innocent.

"Another doctor. Why, was he here?"

"He said he was checking in on your minions for you." He couldn't help the faint smile. So Wilson didn't trust the team yet either. Or he had been looking for dirt on House, but either of those scenarios were good. It meant that he'd be justified the next time he pranked Wilson, because it would be revenge for this.

"Minion is an awfully advanced word for an eleven year old."

"I read a lot. He called you the Grinch." House smirked. He was sure he could kidnap Wilson's dog-well, his ex-wife's dog, to play a decent Max, as he would never submit Steve to the humiliation of wearing reindeer horns.

"And why would he ever do that?"

"Because you're mean."

"And you're very observant. I think even Coma Guy has picked up on the fact that I'm mean, and he's in a coma."

"You are the Grinch. You just need a Cindy Lou to point out that you're just the way you are cause everyone expects you to be that way." The girl's arms cross on her chest, as though she's clearly saying that she's right, and that's the end of the discussion.

He simply checks her chart, notes that there's no change, and leaves. But not before calling out "So long as no one starts calling me Hermie the Elf."

"Merry Christmas Scrooge!" He didn't know how a girl in a hospital bed could possibly be so chipper, but so was the naivety of youth. He didn't realize he was mistaking the smirk for a smile. He didn't think it possible to be manipulated by someone who was not all that far removed from wearing diapers.

He was Marley. He was the Grinch. He was a man who was bound to look like he was permanently seasick, had a heart three sizes too small, and would wear chains forged out of vicodin bottles-after all, his vice was pills not money. His money simply sat in a bank account, occasionally withdrawn to buy something flashy and exotic, but more often than not, just sitting, ignored.

But he'd be damned if he ever let his best friend succumb to his same fate. He'd be damned if he'd let Wilson become anything like he was. And the realization of that thought scared him, and it scared him shitless. He didn't want to care about someone-caring was a weakness. It mean that someone could get close enough to hurt him. And then, he mused, that Wilson was already there. They'd been friends for what seemed like their whole lives-Even though it hadn't actually been that long. They hadn't met til Wilson was in med school. But that had still bee a very long time ago.

And even if it meant separating himself from Wilson's life, if things ever started to get that bad, he would. It'd hurt like hell, but he'd do it. It was then that he realized that he needed to sit down. He had just admitted that he cared enough about his friend to not only do something that was not in his own best interests, but Wilson's, but to do something that would cause him emotional discomfort-the one thing he tried to avoid most-for his friend. And he snorted to himself at the realization. Love was a silly emotion, it was purely a chemical response to promote reproduction.

It certainly wasn't love. He certainly wasn't _gay_ for Wilson. And it certainly didn't make any sense. Which was why he cleared off the entire selection of holiday movies from Movie Gallery. It was a safe selection of movies, all things they could poke fun of over beers.

So it was only when they had made it through Miracle on 34th Street, It's A Wonderful Life (with House pointedly ignoring Wilson's sniffles), and put on something happy that House realized that he felt different. As though he was happier to be home, more content with himself. He put it down to the beer talking, and popped in something funny.

And they watched some cheesy romantic comedy, pointing out how extremely lucky one of the characters was to hop on a plane and come back with Carmen Electra simply because he had a silly British accent. And laughed over the body doubles, who were so incredibly shy about one another, despite spending entire days naked in front of each other. "You know, I think the pop star got off the worst, decides he's in love with his manager only when he's old and washed up."

"He definitely got the worst of that deal. Wound up with an old fat guy too."

"Does it really matter though? I suppose if they'd spent most of their lives being friends, they've long since learned to ignore looks."

"Did I just hear Dr. Wilson, serial cheater, admit that looks don't matter?"

"I'm just saying, if I were to realize that I was in love with someone I'd know for twenty-plus years, I'd have long since found other positive points than their looks." Wilson was suddenly very aware of how close they were on the couch, and was greatful for the moment that House got up, and changed films.

"So, what do you want to watch next?"

"Whatever you do."

"I've had enough of maudlin holiday films."

"So put on the TV, Scrooge." It's meant as a joke, but he sees something cross House's face that he can't figure out. The look remains after House sits down. "What is it?" He asks, curious to know what the quip could have done.

"It's nothing."

"I thought you took pride in being called the miser and hater of all things Christmas. Not giving little Oliver extra gruel and leaving poor Tiny Tim in the cold."

"The difference is, I would have cured Tiny Tim, and then left him in the cold. Tiny Tim just didn't have a good enough doctor, that's all."

"But that gets rid of half the fun of the movie!" House simply shrugged.

"Besides, I'm not Scrooge."

"Oh, really?" Wilson gets up, and comes back with two more bottles of Coors.

"Really."

"If you're not Scrooge, who are you then."

"I'm Marley. You're Scrooge."

"You're the mean one."

"Yeah, but you're the one that turns around at the end, who still has a good soul, and all that jazz. Starts giving to the poor, and being a fine upstanding citizen. I'm the one that's the horrible person and gets punished for it for all eternity."

"House-" There's a pause, and both of them recognize it. And both of them ignore it. "You're not horrible. And you're not going to be punished for all eternity."

"Why not."

"I-" The sentence gets choked off. He doesn't want to admit it. House's expression softens slightly.

"You what?" This has turned into a quest to find an answer. It's no longer about making fun of cheesy movies, it's about pushing things until they break just to get an answer.

"I talked to your patient, the other day."

"Really, how fascinating can an eleven year old be?"

"She-" Another pause, "She said you just needed a Marley, that you're not actually all that mean. You just need someone to straighten you out." He sees House smirk, and chuckle. He looks at his watch, it's getting late. "And I should get going."

He doesn't say that it's because he can feel the heat emanating off of House's body, and it's scaring him. He doesn't say that it's because he's never felt _this_ before, and he hates unknown emotions. He doesn't say that he's afraid of what a haphazard comment made a week prior would have on his friendship, because he's not sure of what effect he wanted it to have on his friendship.

So he goes home, and ignores it until Christmas eve. Both of them ignore it. House had felt it, and reacted much the same way. So afraid of the emotion, that he simply blocks it out of his mind. But Christmas eve, he's lonely. And while House will never admit to being lonely, he is.

He's spending time with his patient-who is now well on the way to recovery, but she's better than no one. Her parents will be in to see her soon. They don't get off work until late. He just doesn't want to go home. His patient's parents show up though, and he has no choice to go home. So he sits on the couch, makes the perfunctory calls to his family, wishes them a merry Christmas, and sits on the couch with a glass of whiskey.

It's then that the door opens, and he looks up to see Wilson there. "What're you doing here?" And Wilson still can't shake a memory of Christmas past, where he walked through that same door to see a House at rock bottom, wondering what his life would be like now, and hating himself for wondering.

"I had a realization."

"About?"

"Christmas."

"My my, Jimmy the Jew, soon to be a convert?"

"I realized that it was a time to spend with the people you love."

"And?"

"I realized that as fate would have it, that I've managed to get through forty something years, three wives, and all that time, it was spent with an arrogant, misanthropic jerk. And I came to the realization that, as much as it grieves me to say it, that perhaps the person I love most is...you." The words are hard to say, even though he's copied them nearly wholesale from a movie they were watching.

"All the eggnog, it's gone to your head." But even the sarcasm isn't quite all there, because even House knows that maybe Wilson has a point.

"I could be with any woman I wanted right now, and yet, I'd rather spend Christmas here. Because, despite all of...everything, we've still made it through. Intact. And for the most part, having a very good life."

There's a long silence between them, Wilson waits with bated breath for the rejection that he thinks is imminent, and House ponders what it is that Wilson's said. He knew what the emotion he was feeling was, he knew it had a name, and he knew that he didn't like it. But at the same time, it was one that felt so very, very right. "Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to get me a beer?" And in that moment, both of them know that Christmas isn't going to be quite so lonely, and that they both have a little less reason to hate the world.

And they both realize that it doesn't matter which one is Scrooge and which one is Marley, or what Marley's motivations were, because they're both Scrooge and both Marley, and both of them are saving each other before it comes down to actually needing to.


End file.
